The Von Karma Name
by AnbarElectrum
Summary: A Von Karma's childhood is a series of lessons, and Miles Edgeworth is a Von Karma now, whether he likes it or not. Little does he suspect that the most important lessons won't come from his tutors at all… Edgeworth-centric drabble series, though Franziska and Manfred von Karma feature heavily.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: This little thing occurred to me midway through playing the fourth case of AAI, Turnabout Reminiscence. I won't spoil anything, but there's this one conversation between Edgeworth, Franziska, and Von Karma which basically alternates nonstop between foreshadowing for the end of the first Ace Attorney game and blatant verbal abuse. Yet everything Edgeworth says about the guy absolutely oozes hero worship and a blissful ignorance of Von Karma's iffier qualities…and still, he accepts every last insult with an unsurprised, if saddened, 'Yes, sir,' and an utter lack of expression.**_

_**Thus, I present to you: how the hell that relationship came to be. In my humble opinion, of course.**_

_**This is going to be an exception to my recently-instituted no-partials rule, since it's a drabble series and you guys won't be getting plot holes dropped on you every time I miss updates.**_

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**Chapter One**

**Arrival: Lesson in Retrospect, and Lesson Two**

**Februar 2002**

Although Miles Edgeworth's official tutelage would not begin until the day after he arrived at the Von Karma manor, he learned his first lesson as soon as he landed in Germany. Manfred von Karma himself had been waiting at the terminal, both hands resting on his shiny black-lacquered cane, looking every bit as proud and forbidding as Miles remembered from his father's final day in court.

He had been very…brisk. No 'good to see you again' or 'how have you been' or even 'my condolences on your father's passing', belated as that would have been. The first thing he ever said to Miles was 'Is that all?' with a sharp look at his little black bag.

"Yes," Miles replied softly. He couldn't bring himself to look all the way up at Von Karma's eyes, which fell instead upon the ring-bedecked, folded hands atop the cane, but neither did he stutter. His father had never stuttered. Miles would not stutter.

Von Karma nodded curtly and snapped his fingers, pointing a tall, nondescript man in an equally nondescript suit towards Miles's bag. Immediately, the man stepped forward and took it from Miles. He did not look at the boy as he did so.

"Come," Von Karma ordered, the cane providing sharp punctuation to his gait. Miles followed almost directly behind him. He noticed that the suited man consistently shifted pace so that he was never ahead of his employer or the small boy.

Von Karma paused before the elevator, and the suited man broke his apparent protocol to step forward and reach a hand out to the button. Dread flared in the pit of Miles's stomach, but he didn't dare say anything, even as he envisioned the dark, cramped walls, the shuddering motion—

—the jarring stop—

—the gunshot—

—that _scream—!_

"No," Von Karma said crisply, and the suited man stopped. Von Karma turned on the spot and led the way to the stairs instead, lifting his cane off the ground and swinging it in a neat arc until it was held securely under his arm.

(Even as an adult, Miles never knew exactly why Von Karma tolerated his—as Manfred put it—_distaste_ for elevators, even with his need for a cane. Perhaps it was simpler than coping with one of Miles's breakdowns. Perhaps the indulgence amused him. Perhaps he didn't want to push Miles too far and break him before his revenge could be carried out.

Or perhaps, just perhaps, it was a flash of humanity.)

In any event, this was Miles's first lesson, though he wouldn't see it for what it was for many years: _Kindness inspires loyalty, no matter how undeserved._

It was good for Von Karma that this was true, for the second lesson wasn't long in coming.

"Edgeworth," the cold, deep voice said as the car rumbled to life, and Miles jumped. _Edgeworth_ was his father, not him—but not anymore, it seemed.

"Yes…" he hesitated, not sure how to refer to this terrifying man to whom he owed his future. "…Sir?" Miles ventured.

Von Karma didn't _smile_, but his scowl lessened slightly, his lips no longer so tightly set, the lines in his forehead no longer so sharply defined. "I am bringing you to my home. You will live there until you reach your age of majority."

Miles knew this, but thought it would be poor form to say so, and so he nodded as respectfully as he could.

That _did_ earn a faint smile, or perhaps a smirk. "You know your place. That is good. I suppose it would be impossible to grow up in any lawyer's home, even a defense attorney's, without learning something of manners." He paused for a moment, retrieving his earlier train of thought. "Now and forever, boy, you are a Von Karma. From those bearing my name, I expect nothing less than _perfection._ I will _accept_ nothing less than perfection. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." To say that Von Karma relaxed would be untrue, but he did at least lean back a little. One hand crept up to rub gently at his right shoulder.

Miles did not dare move, sitting _perfectly_ still and _perfectly_ straight until they finally arrived.

And so the second lesson was learned.

* * *

_**Lesson One: Kindness inspires loyalty.**_

_**Lesson Two: A Von Karma is perfection.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: In case you couldn't tell(which a lot of you likely can't), I was listening to **__**Anything to Win**__** when I wrote this. I unwittingly (no, really, it actually wasn't intentional) took a few lines from it and used them in this chapter, though at least I managed to avoid all but one verbatim reference. So to make up for this homage/plagiarism, I direct you to [pwmusical . com], sans spaces, to witness the glory that is **__**Turnabout Musical**__** for yourselves. Or you can just YouTube it.**_

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**Chapter Two**

**Eldest: Lesson Three**

**Mai 2002**

Life as a Von Karma was far less glamorous than one might expect. Of course, thanks to the extensive staff of maids and manservants, household chores were no longer an issue. However, in their place were countless extra studies. Any free time left after the essentials—German, English, mathematics, history, and science—was taken up with pursuits such as French, Spanish, Italian (taught simultaneously, providing yet another challenge which Miles dared not fail), logic and critical thinking, the legal systems of Germany, England, and America(and a few others, but those were the primary ones), and a weekly assignment to spend several hours with Von Karma's legal aide, going over paperwork and trial proceedings. Frequently at dinner, what little conversation there was centred around the art of Prosecution.

It really _did_ need to be capitalised, the way they went on about it—_they _being Manfred and his eldest daughter, Liesl.

At one point, Miles dared to say something to Von Karma that, well, wasn't terribly Von Karma of him.

"Sir, why am I training to become a prosecutor?" He'd been there about three months now. Apparently, to everyone else, it had been _perfectly_ obvious that _of course_ he would become a prosecutor, and Manfred told him so.

"Von Karmas are prosecutors," he said sternly. "To be a Von Karma _is_ to be a prosecutor. We are _doom _upon lawbreakers, boy. That is our purpose. We achieve utter perfection in prosecution. We deliver justice to those who dare to cross us!"

Liesl listened attentively, a faint smile on her face, her eyes blazing at her father's words.

"My father was a defense attorney," Miles ventured. "I suppose I always expected to follow in his footsteps."

He knew Von Karma was strict. But he'd never even _suspected_ the temper held behind those cold blue eyes. The prosecutor shot out of his chair, striking his left hand sharply against the polished, ancient wood of the dining table. The light from the fireplace threw his face into terrifying relief.

"_Will you follow his footsteps to the grave, then?"_ he roared. Miles flinched.

Liesl froze.

"Foolish boy! Your father was _killed_ by a man who might have _become_ one of his precious _'clients'_—one of those chained, shamefaced creatures hiding among his fellow men, parroting his lawyer's claims, squawking _'not guilty! Not guilty!'_ until their faces are blue from the need for breath! _That_ is the path of the _defense attorney!"_ Von Karma seemed to spit the words out. "Foolish, corrupt _cowards!"_

Miles's vision went white for an instant, hot rage surging, and he leapt to his feet.

"_My father was not a coward!"_ he shrieked.

In an instant, he was sprawled on the floor, one hand going to the stinging bruise developing on his cheek. It felt like his face was on fire, and Von Karma stood over him, cane forgotten in his fury. As Miles watched, vision blurry with tears, the insane anger bled from Von Karma's eyes, and slowly the prosecutor reached into a pocket, retrieving a handkerchief that he pressed to the back of his right hand, which he'd used to strike Miles. He held that arm awkwardly; the motion had clearly jarred his injured shoulder.

Feeling the hard floor uncomfortably close and cold against his shoulder-blades and hips, his left shoulder and elbow aching and throbbing from how he'd fallen, Miles heard Von Karma's next words distantly—but nonetheless, he heard them.

"My dear boy," the prosecutor said, his deep rumbling voice sounding weary, almost sympathetic, "then why on Earth did he have that gun?"

Miles couldn't speak, could barely even breathe, and only part of it was the impact. He felt a rushing in his ears, his heart pounding in his chest.

"I have a simple argument for you, Edgeworth. If _A_ were not true, than _B_ could not be true. Therefore, if _B_ is true, _A_ must be true." Miles was new to Germany and to German, and Von Karma spoke his next words in English, burning them forever into Miles's memory.

"If your father were not a corrupt coward, he would not be dead. And Gregory Edgeworth is most definitely dead."

A thunderous snap of the fingers punctuated this brutal reminder of Lesson Two. _A Von Karma is perfection._

Then, to Miles's surprise, Von Karma extended a hand—his left, this time—and took Miles's, bracing himself against a chair for balance and support as he half-lifted the boy to his feet. Miles stood there, frozen, as Manfred limped back towards his place at the table, reclaiming his cane.

And as Von Karma silently left the room, Miles slowly made his way to his chair, the third lesson planted in his numbed-feeling mind as securely as the seeds of terrible doubt which Manfred had sown.

Liesl's eyes were wide, horrified. She still hadn't moved. Then, in a quiet whisper of German: "He never hits."

She looked utterly shaken, and Miles briefly forgot his pain in his surprise.

"Papa _never_ hits," she repeated shakily, her face pale and bloodless.

The next month, she was very quiet, and she never met her father's eyes.

The month after, she was gone. One day, she simply packed her bags, called a taxi, and left. She never returned to House von Karma. Upon hearing the news, Manfred went pale and horrified, just as she had that night. Then his face flushed with red, and he scowled.

"Don't speak foolishness," he snapped at the unfortunate servant who had had the dubious honour of delivering Liesl's farewell message. "There is no _Liesl von Karma. _I have but _one_ daughter."

That morning, there had been a fine china tea set in Von Karma's study. That evening, two maids went at the shards in the carpet with tweezers and exchanged fearful looks.

Thus, in her absence, Liesl too learned the third lesson: _Don't cross Von Karma._

* * *

_**Lesson One: Kindness inspires loyalty.**_

_**Lesson Two: A Von Karma is perfection.**_

_**Lesson Three: Don't cross Von Karma.**_


	3. Interlude 1

_**A/N: The first in a series of short interludes I have planned to fill in additional details about the people and places related to Miles who do not/no longer appear or have yet to appear, as well as to break up the 'lessons' theme and to occasionally shake up the mood a little. Some will be happy, or sad, bittersweet, quirky, humorous, angsty…the possibilities are limitless. Regular programming will resume shortly, etcetera.**_

_**Also. 133 views and 0 reviews? Seriously, guys?**_

_**Well, I love you all anyway.  
**_

* * *

**Interlude One**

**With Liesl—1**

Liesl remembered her mother. Camilla Verdi had been a sweet, gentle woman, full of life, and that hadn't changed when she'd become Camilla von Karma. Liesl often thought she might have inherited too much from both of her parents—her mother's gentle, loving demeanour coupled with her father's pride and single-mindedness.

They weren't a good mix. Not for a Von Karma.

She believed wholeheartedly in the justice of prosecution, really she did, and even stepping into a courtroom gave her chills. But with her mother gone, Liesl realised, the Von Karma manor had turned cold, lifeless. Papa hardly ever smiled anymore. And Franziska was growing up without ever learning what it was she'd lost. So at night, just before the little girl's bedtime, Liesl would go to Franziska's room and study there, with her little sister perched on the bed beside her and occasionally peering down at the teenager's textbook with a look of combined interest and bemusement.

Life was quieter without Mama. Papa had grown a little sadder, a little colder. Liesl had become a little more sombre, reflective. Franziska…who could say what the difference was there? The only influence Mama had ever really had on her was spurring her into the world through tears and sweat and pain. She'd barely been two before the woman was just gone, vanished forever like a wraith from their lives, her legacy little more than a handful of half-remembered lullabies in a child's mind.

And now there was the boy. Miles. He was quiet, too, and sad, and day by day Liesl could see him growing colder too, just like Papa had. Soon the ice forming on his heart would envelop him until there was nothing left.

Except there was still a flame there and—but why, why on Earth?—Papa was determined to put that flame out. Flesh struck flesh, an unwritten rule cracked with an un-sound still somehow louder than the physical blow. And Liesl realised, all of a sudden, that she'd been gravely mistaken—this whole time, she, inheritor of a name which meant, above all, _perfection_, had been wrong.

If she'd been sure Franziska could have read a letter through without needing to ask for help, she'd have written one. It would have begun and ended with the words _I'm sorry._


	4. Chapter 3

_**A/N: My ego can't stand the thought that you might think that I'm misspelling the names of months. So in case you haven't figured it out yet, they're in German. 'Kay. Now that I've posted, I'm going to go back to hoping that this thunderstorm I hear overhead will result in my class being cancelled before I have to give my presentation today.**_

_***prays***_

_**Also, if you like the story, please leave a review! It's not mandatory. Really. And I won't even hold chapters hostage, because that would be mean and rude. But...*sniffles*.**_

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**Chapter Three**

_**Never:**_** Lesson Four, and Reflection**

**Juni 2002**

The night after Liesl had left, Miles was awakened by, of all things, footsteps. Gradually, as he woke further, he became aware of a pattern—five rapid, running footsteps, and a door was yanked open, then slammed closed. Repeat. As the sounds drew closer, a soft little call joined the pattern, but Miles couldn't make out the words—until finally, it was Miles's door which was flung open. Squinting through the darkness, Miles saw a tiny figure in the doorway, leaning into the room, peering about anxiously.

"Liesl?" The voice was tearful—a girl's voice, to match the shadowy shape.

And then the door began to ease closed again.

"Hello?" Miles called out at last, but softly, not wanting to risk waking any of the staff—or worse, Von Karma himself.

The door stopped.

"_Hallo?"_

Ah. German. Right. Hastily, Miles constructed his next sentence in the same tongue.

"Why are you looking for Liesl?" he asked, sitting up. "Please, come in," he added, as he shifted further until he was kneeling on top of his bed.

The girl did so, closing the door behind her. Miles reached out to the bedside lamp—specifically, to its dimmer switch, turning it up just enough so that he could see her face.

Once he could, of course, his suspicions were confirmed. He'd been pretty sure there was only one other child in the house, but now that he saw her, there was no doubt that this was Liesl's younger sister.

"You're Franziska, right?" he asked.

Timidly, the girl nodded, fidgeting with the braid of silver-blue hair which hung over her shoulder. She was wearing one of those old-fashioned nightgowns, all white silk and gathers and lace, collar to wrists and toes.

"Are you Miles?" she asked, looking longingly at the bed.

"I am," Miles replied. "You can sit down if you like."

She did. "Liesl told me about you. Liesl said that you were my brother now. Brother, where is Liesl? Do you know?"

"I—" The words stuck in Miles's throat as Franziska looked at him expectantly, blue eyes wide and shining with hope.

She couldn't be more than three. He shouldn't have to tell her this.

"I'm sorry, Franziska, I don't know. She—she left," Miles said quietly.

Lips pursed, eyes narrowed, arms crossed. Every line of the girl's body radiated disbelief.

"No! Liesl wouldn't go! She promised to—"

At Miles's panicked look, she too seemed to grow afraid, glancing at the door with a hunted expression before continuing in a lower voice.

"—to stay with me! She promised! She promised me and she said she promised Mama too and Liesl _never _breaks promises! Never, never, never!" the girl insisted, looking fierce.

Miles was silent.

"She…she wouldn't just…leave me…" Franziska sounded less certain, softer. "She wouldn't leave me al—"

Her voice cracked. _Alone._

"Franziska, I—I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Miles whispered, feeling tears gathering in his eyes just as in Franziska's.

"She never breaks promises," Franziska repeated, her voice rough and strained. "N…n…ne…never…"

All at once, the tiny girl threw herself at Miles, sobbing quietly into his pyjama shirt. For a moment, Miles was at a loss what to do with her.

"Liesl," the girl hiccupped. "I—I want Liesl back, Miles!"

"I know," Miles forced out through the lump in his throat, putting his arms around her…

His little sister.

_She wants Liesl back. I want Father back._

"But we can't get them back…" Miles whispered, and if a tear found its way free from his suddenly ancient-seeming eyes, no one would ever be able to say.

Liesl had promised to never leave Franziska. She _never_ broke promises? Hah.

_Trusting in others only gets you hurt._ Miles silently vowed to remember this fourth lesson. _I will _not_ leave myself open to that again._

He almost thought _never,_ but he didn't. _Never_ was a lie.

In his mind's eye, Franziska frowned, glaring accusingly at him.

"_Liesl _never _breaks promises."_

Liesl, pale, trembling, staring at nothing.

"_Papa _never _hits."_

A young boy hugging his friend beneath the weak sun of a cold Christmas day.

"_I'd _never_ leave without saying goodbye! You know that, Phoenix!"_

Another _never_ lie.

_I'll see you at New Year's,_ Miles had promised. Only he hadn't. And he wouldn't. Not ever. Never.

But not _never_—because _never_ was a lie.

* * *

_**Lesson One: Kindness inspires loyalty.**_

_**Lesson Two: A Von Karma is perfection.**_

_**Lesson Three: Don't cross Von Karma.**_

_**Lesson Four: You can't trust others.**_

* * *

_**A/N: Is Franziska not adorable? I just refuse to believe she was in full "I am perfection me-whip-you-dead" mode at the age of **_**three._ Yay, sibling cuddles!_**

**_Dammit, the rain stopped. *fumes*_**


	5. Chapter 4

_**A/N: A bit of a respite from the lessons theme this chapter, though it's not another interlude. Think of this as an oasis of fluff in an ocean of Manfred-hate.**_

_**3**__**rd**__** paragraph: Holy parentheses overdose, Batman!**_

_***is a nerd***_

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**So Could You Very Sweetly?**

**Oktober 2002**

From the day Liesl left onward, there was another, unspoken rule in the Von Karma manor. You were never to say her name. The staff caught on quickly when two of their own—a particularly gossipy manservant and a maid whose job it was to give Von Karma his mail—were fired on the spot for doing so. The latter hadn't even technically broken the rule, since news of the former's prompt dismissal had spread like wildfire through the staff, but she did have the misfortune of delivering a letter from Liesl, one which promptly made it into the fire which burned once more in the dining room fireplace thanks to the lingering chill in this mountainous region. For a moment, Miles had contemplated grabbing it for the sake of Franziska's peace of mind, but there hadn't been time, and Liesl hadn't written since.

A few months after Liesl's abrupt departure, Franziska had her fourth birthday. Miles knew that she would probably be encouraged/forced to take Liesl's place in training as a prosecutor as soon as possible, not that she wouldn't have been raised as one anyway, but he did think that a legal encyclopaedia was probably not the best gift her father could have given her. That she could even read fluently was a testament to her intelligence and the diligence of her governess. She certainly wasn't going to be doing legal research anytime soon!

Miles had given her his gift in secret—it didn't take a genius (even if he _was_ one) to figure out that Von Karma wouldn't approve of it. Using the 'meagre' (by _Manfred's_ standards) allowance he'd been allotted, he'd determined to find Franziska a gift that, while age-appropriate, wouldn't make her feel as if he thought her stupid or childish. In pursuit of this goal, he'd convinced Von Karma to allow him to head to the nearest city the weekend before(local geography, bizarrely, was something he'd never even been _in_formally instructed in) with Artur as escort.

Artur was the suited man from the airport. He was also, apparently, Miles's valet. Miles had been greatly taken aback to learn this.

His pretext—that he was searching for a few foreign-language novels for study purposes—naturally led him to a bookstore: exactly where he wanted to be. It took nearly an hour and a half, but at last he had what he was looking for: the most accurate German translation of _The World of Pooh_ that he could find.

Since Franziska had far more freedom to move about the manor than did Miles, he enlisted the aid of Franziska's governess to pass a message to her, instructing her to meet him in his room after lights-out. Adeline Kirsch was the sort of governess you usually only got in movies—the kind who would secretly abet her charge while presenting a stern, dutiful face to her overly-strict employer—and so of course she was happy to help, even locating and providing wrapping paper and curling ribbon to lend a festive, cheerful note that the celebration proper had…lacked.

Franziska took the colourful, spangled package with a wide-eyed look of awe approaching reverence. "For me?" she whispered, looking up at her new brother.

"Well, it's certainly not _my_ birthday," Miles pointed out dryly. "Go on, open it."

Franziska's hands went eagerly to the ribbon, sliding it off. Then she paused, her hands poised above the gift, a look of conflicted sorrow on her face.

"I'll ruin it," she said sadly.

"It's okay—the paper's just the wrapping, not the gift," Miles explained, feeling a little silly for having to. Von Karma didn't seem to believe in wrapping paper. It was both pointless and wasteful…which was technically true, but gifts just weren't _gifts_ without it.

Franziska hesitated a moment more. "I _do_ really want to open it…"

Miles watched, faintly bemused, as Franziska carefully un-taped the paper, meticulously unfolding each and every crease. The last time he'd seen anyone open a gift was last Christmas, when he and his father, along with Larry, had joined the Wright family to celebrate. There, Larry had proudly displayed his 'present-opening talons', having left off trimming his nails for the entire last month, and torn into his gifts like a rampaging Tyrannosaurus Rex. Miles and Mr Wright had been appalled. His father, Phoenix, and Mrs Wright had found it hysterically funny, the latter nudging her husband and ordering him to "Lighten up, Asher!"

Asher's retort had been that _she_ wasn't the one who was going to have to clean up the floor later, and he'd winced as Larry made the error of slashing open a homemade wrapping-paper goodie-bag, scattering jelly beans all over the wooden floor with a rushing clatter.

He still wondered a little why Larry hadn't been with his family. More than that, though, he wondered what Franziska would think of Larry's technique, as at last she simply swept the whole sheet from atop her present, unmarred save for a few little places where the tape had scarred the gleaming finish.

Gently, his sister lifted the slender volume, curiously examining the picture on the front.

"Is that bear walking on two legs?" she asked sceptically.

"Erm, yes."

"…Why?"

Miles wasn't quite sure how to answer that one. "Because he's Winnie-the-Pooh," he replied, because it explained it to _him._ "It's a story, Ziska. It doesn't have to be realistic. It's got its own rules. In this story, bears can walk on two legs, and talk to tigers and kangaroos and rabbits."

Franziska's eyes went wide. "Tigers!" Eagerly, she opened the book, but her look quickly turned to one of confusion.

"Where are the headers? The footnotes?"

Miles froze.

_(No…she _can't_ mean…)_

"Ziska," the boy began carefully, examining her face closely in the dim lamplight. "Have you ever read a storybook before? Or a novel?"

She shook her head slowly, staring at him with expectant blue eyes.

"Have you ever read _anything_ that wasn't a textbook?" Miles asked softly, _really_ hoping he didn't know the answer.

Another headshake.

_(…I read textbooks a lot when I was little, too, but I _chose_ to…)_

After another moment of hesitation, Miles came to a decision.

"Here, Ziska. I'll read it to you."

A look of fascinated anticipation came into her eyes and she nodded eagerly, handing it to her brother, who took it solemnly and propped himself up against the headboard. He opened the volume and smiled slightly at the familiar image which greeted him, of a little boy tugging a toy bear down the stairs by its arm.

The scene in Miles's bedroom as he began to read would have made a good illustration, too: the dim light of the lamp barely illuminated a boy in pyjamas with his feet just under the edge of the sheets and a book open on his drawn-up knees and a little girl in a frilly nightgown, one leg dangling over the edge of the bed, braided hair falling over her shoulder as she leaned forward attentively as if hanging onto the boy's every word.

With a silent, desperate prayer to he-didn't-know-who that he wouldn't stumble over the barely-familiar language, tainting the beloved story with his own clumsiness, Miles read the words which he'd once known so well, in another time, another land, another tongue.

And slowly but surely, the gleam in Franziska's eyes changed from one of expectancy to one of utmost enchantment.

"'_What about a story?' said Christopher Robin._

"'_What _about_ a story?' I said._

"'_Could you very sweetly tell Winnie-the-Pooh one?'_

"'_I suppose I could,' I said. 'What sort of stories does he like?'_

"'_About himself. Because he's _that_ sort of Bear.'_

"'_Oh, I see.'_

"'_So could you very sweetly?'_

"'_I'll try', I said._

"_So I tried."_

* * *

_**Lesson One: Kindness inspires loyalty.**_

_**Lesson Two: A Von Karma is perfection.**_

_**Lesson Three: Don't cross Von Karma.**_

_**Lesson Four: You can't trust others.**_

* * *

_**Additional Disclaimer: **__**The World of Pooh **__**was written by A.A. Milne like waaaaaay before I was born, so I while I own the book, or rather a copy thereof, I don't own the IP contained therein, including the dialogue at the end of this chapter. Please not to sue, textbooks are pricy. Kthnxbai.**_

* * *

_**A/N: Yes! Reviews! *does happy dance***_

_**What? Ego? Me? Maybe. Mostly I just like knowing people are enjoying this. Thanks so much, guys!**_

_**Red-the-Mudkip:**__** Yes; that, and a little research. Capcom wasn't originally intending to make Justice For All, so they didn't pay too much attention to little details like 'how many relatives Von Karma has', and threw in the granddaughter line. Then they made it and wanted Von Karma 2.0 to be a teenaged prodigy, making a throwaway comment in one of those Japanese-only fan handbooks about Manfred having a second, nameless older daughter to explain the granddaughter line.**_

_**Anonymous:**__** I wouldn't bid **_**adieu**_** to Liesl just yet…after all, that interlude was With Liesl #**__**1**__**…heehee. I'm glad you like this so much!**_


	6. Interlude 2

_**A/N: It's a letter because Von Karma doesn't believe in computers. Or something. Just roll with it.**_

_**LawyerGirl227: Close, but not quite; I am planning to do some Letters to Miles interludes as well, but this letter is plot-relevant so it had to be from Edgeworth this time.**_

* * *

**Interlude Two**

**Letters to Phoenix—1**

_Dear Phoenix,_

_I'm sure you heard about my father, but you may not know what happened after and why I missed New Year's. I've been adopted by a colleague of my father's, and since he lives in Germany I do too now. It's strange to speak another language every day, especially since I'm only just getting good at German. I have a lot more schoolwork now; Mr von Karma has instructors for me and a governess for Franziska. That's his daughter—I guess that makes her my sister now. You were the one who always wanted a little sister. Of course, she calls __me__ her little brother, because she's always correcting me when I get a word wrong. She thinks that because she's 'teaching' me, she gets to call me that, because that's what __older__ sisters do. I can't convince her that that's not how it works. She's only three!_

_I should keep this short. I really just wanted to make sure you weren't too worried about me. Now that you know where I am, maybe you could write back? Larry too, I suppose—just try to keep him from writing anything __too__ idiotic, will you?_

_Love,_

_Miles_

Von Karma eased the letter-opener under the flap of the envelope, neatly slitting the paper and leaving the top wide open. He withdrew the letter and unfolded it, leaning back in his chair to read it.

The best thing he could have said about it, he concluded, was that Edgeworth had exceptional penmanship for a ten-year-old. The prosecutor contemplated burning the letter, that an overly-sentimental servant wouldn't find it in the trash, but ultimately he tucked it into a drawer. He'd have to quietly encourage this letter-writing habit. For one, it was free information (and handwriting samples, noted the part of his mind that was _always_ in court) and perhaps more importantly, when Edgeworth's friends never replied to his letters, the boy would be crushed. He needed to let go of such sentimentalities if Von Karma was ever to mould him into the ideal prosecutor. He had no desire to fail in the boy's training and suffer a second shame at the hands of the Edgeworth family.

Although, Von Karma reflected, he'd have to think of some way to separate Gregory's brat from his own daughter at some point. This 'sibling' notion they'd taken hold of would be distracting to both of them, and equally importantly, it wouldn't do to have Franziska get too attached to the whelp.

After all, Edgeworth wouldn't be around forever…


	7. Chapter 5

_**A/N: Hey! It's been a while, hasn't it? ...Yeah. So, there's a chapter here! Actually, there's a couple new chapters...eheh. I've fallen behind on updating...but I intend to fix that! Enjoy!  
**_

* * *

**Chapter Five**

**Competition: Lesson Five**

**November 2002**

Upon reaching her fourth birthday, a lot of things changed for Franziska—and by extension, everyone else in the manor. The first big change was in her instruction: whereas before Fraulein Kirsch had been administering her basic education, now that Franziska was of school age, she would have private tutors like Miles. Some subjects she learned with her own tutors, alone in 'her' classroom—notably whatever she was learning during Miles's mathematics and logic, since she was too young to know much of the former and comprehend the arcane hypotheticals of the latter. Others, such as languages, she learned alongside Miles, since they were both beginning at the same level there.

In those lessons they shared, however, Miles was beginning to notice a distinct trend: all of their assignments seemed to be competitive in nature. Even things like tests, or assigned reading: whoever got the lowest grade or took the longest to read got extra work to do after lessons, while the 'winner' was simply instructed to continue practicing and begin reading ahead.

_(Why do they want us to compete with each other so badly?)_ Miles wondered. No doubt, it kept them studying diligently—neither wanted to be the one stuck wasting their precious after-dinner free time on yet another assignment—but Miles had always been schooled in a _cooperative_ environment. When he'd been in brick-and-mortar school, group projects had been encouraged or even sometimes mandatory (which was good, because Phoenix was eagerly helpful, but bad, because Larry was…not), following the theory that they could learn from each other as much as from their instructors.

The only topics they were allowed to collaborate on were English and German, each helping the other by sharing tips and knowledge of linguistic quirks that weren't in the textbooks, one native speaker to another.

Naturally, due to the disparity of age, Franziska more often than not was the one with extra work. She remained fiercely independent, refusing to allow Miles to help her get the work done. She came to visit him in his room less and less often, and when she did it was usually only briefly, and without her book. Even when she did ask him to read to her, she usually didn't manage to stay awake past the first page or so, and Miles had to wake her as soon as he noticed and send her back to her own bedroom. One time he had to half-carry her back to her room, following her drowsily muttered directions. To his horror, the route had led them right past Von Karma's study. He didn't even want to _imagine_ his mentor's fury if he discovered either of them out of bed past lights-out.

More and more often, when Franziska came down to breakfast, Miles noticed the dark circles blooming under her eyes, the growing slump to her shoulders before Von Karma reprimanded her for poor posture and she forced herself to sit up straight. He'd caught her nodding off more than once at dinner, and had to nearly step on her foot under the table to wake her before her father noticed.

A few weeks of this was enough to convince Miles to swallow his pride. The next set of readings he dawdled over; the next test, he carefully circled a handful of answers he knew to be incorrect. True, now _he_ was the one whose sleep schedule went through hell, and he felt sickened by the disappointed looks he received from the tutors, the tutors of which there were so many he could barely keep track of their names. But Franziska yawned less, lost the too-pale tinge to her cheeks, and began smiling again.

And really, Miles reflected, what sort of brother would he be if he wasn't willing to put up with a little discomfort for his sister's sake? Honestly, he didn't really mind—it wasn't as if he'd really slept since last December.

But Miles hadn't been careful enough. If the tutors frowned suspiciously over the sudden, oh-so-slight drop in his grades, Von Karma went well beyond that. One Saturday afternoon, towards the end of November, Miles was summoned to his mentor's study.

"What is this?" Von Karma demanded, setting Miles's latest grades on the desk before his charge.

"My grades, sir," Miles said quietly, numb fear prickling down his scalp and spine, stomach writhing and twisting into unpleasant knots.

"I can see that," Von Karma replied icily, frowning. "What I _fail_ to see is why these grades are so very different from those which you have maintained since your arrival in February." Stern blue eyes fixed on him.

"The new topics are harder, sir," Miles lied feebly, staring down at his knees.

"Of course," Von Karma agreed, in a tone Phoenix would have described as _not buyin' it._ There was a long moment of silence, and then the legendary prosecutor sighed, crossing his arms and bowing his snowy head, eyes slipping closed. His hand clenched spasmodically at his sleeve as he spoke.

"The new topics are _meant _to be more difficult, and to increase in difficulty for each new subject you learn. This is the only way to master things." Uncrossing his arms, Von Karma brought a fist down on his desk, startling Miles.

"You must _consistently_ overcome each challenge laid before you. With each obstacle behind you, you are _stronger._" The fist lifted slightly and came down again in emphasis. "You are _better._ You are more _prepared_ to face the next fight. When you lose—_no matter the reason—_you _surrender_ a measure of that strength, that superiority, that preparedness. And so when the next challenge arises, you fall once more." Von Karma stood and left the desk, crossing to the window and clasping his hands behind him. The aquiline set of his features was more pronounced than ever in profile, even from Miles's distance, for the boy dared not stand without permission.

He'd expected a reprimand, and he'd gotten one. But, for all he'd lived as a Von Karma for the last ten months, for all the memory of his father's voice was fading and being shunned away into the back of his mind, he'd always had the impression that the man's obsession with perfection was unreasonable, and that his expectations—no matter how real they were—were equally irrational. The words he had expected were a fierce tongue-lashing, reminding him of his place and duty as a Von Karma to seek perfection in all areas. Perhaps, though the incident in May had been the first and last time Von Karma had ever struck him, there would be pain to enforce his words. Instead, he got _this._ It made _sense. _It was almost _inspiring._

"The way to overcome a loss, Edgeworth," Von Karma said crisply, still not looking at the boy, "is to break the cycle swiftly, early, and decisively. You cannot hesitate. You must do whatever is necessary to assure your next victory, and the best way is to return to the fight which bested you, face your enemy once again…and this time, you crush them before they've even a chance to fight back."

He glanced at Miles and for a moment, the boy thought he saw a flash of…something. Sorrow? Pain?

Guilt?

"Above all, when you have chosen the course by which you will absolve yourself of the stain of failure, you must hold to it." He looked away again, voice still cold and hard, but hushed, almost thoughtful. "Nothing must stay your hand, neither pity nor remorse; indeed, nor any such sort of foolish sentimentality. You can never stop until you have cleansed yourself of the last, vaguest vestiges of defeat."

Von Karma turned sharply away from the window, returning to his desk and picking up the grade sheet, thrusting it at Miles impatiently in one last, forceful reminder of this fifth lesson: _avoid defeat at _any_ cost._

"Do them over," he ordered. "Do them over, and do them _right._ I sincerely hope that both you and Franziska will both learn from this. You will each review this entire section as homework after dinner until Christmas break. Dismissed."

* * *

_**Lesson One: Kindness inspires loyalty.**_

_**Lesson Two: A Von Karma is perfection.**_

_**Lesson Three: Don't cross Von Karma.**_

_**Lesson Four: You can't trust others.**_

_**Lesson Five: Avoid defeat at any cost.**_

* * *

_**A/N: Gee, I wonder what Von Karma is talking about and feeling slightly guilty about and especially when he looks at Miles. It's a real mystery.**_

…_**Oh. Dear. God. I've started calling Edgeworth **_**Miles**_** even out-of-prose! Gah!**_


	8. Chapter 6

_**A/N: So, there is a letter at the beginning of this chapter. It used to be an interlude. Then I had THE EPIC SCHEDULE SLIP OF DOOM and decided I owed you more than an interlude, I owed you an actual freaking chapter. One of the longest to date, in point of fact. Speaking of some of the 'you' that I owe:**_

_**6GunSally:**__** I actually wasn't sure anyone would catch the 'Asher' thing…thank you. Seriously! Hmm…one of the most evil Von Karmas you've seen? It's odd to hear that, actually, and reassuring. I was trying to write him from a more understanding, human viewpoint—sort of capturing the reasons why Edgeworth and Franziska look up to him so much (as Edgeworth puts it 'he **_**was**_** my mentor') even after The Reveal. I was almost worried I was making him TOO sympathetic. Glad to hear that's not the case!**_

_**FranzyPearlfan:**__** Are you prophetic or something!? I read your comment on Chapter Five (erm, 7? Stupid ff dot net numbering…) and nearly had a heart attack! I was all like: "How did you KNOW!?" and spent the next couple of minutes checking my room for bugs. Lol.**_

_**And of course, I am eternally grateful to all of you who read and who reviewed, even the ones whose comments I could not think of witty and/or informative replies to! Thanks so much!**_

_**Anyway. Upon re-reading the (actual) beginning of this chapter, I suddenly have this image of the cast of Ace Attorney singing…that one song from the beginning of the Muppet Christmas Carol that I don't actually know the name of…while Edgeworth just haughtily strides among them like Michael Caine surrounded by singing puppets.**_

_**And with **_**that **_**awkward image, I give you: The extremely-out-of-season Christmas special!**_

* * *

_Dear Phoenix (and possibly Larry)_

_I wrote you a letter a while back, but, I guess you didn't get it. Still, it might arrive eventually once it's not lost in the mail anymore, so I won't repeat myself._

_Honestly, I actually don't have anything to tell you yet. Franziska (Mr von Karma's daughter) and I have some lessons together now. She's been very helpful with my learning German, and I'm trying to help her with some English as well._

_How have you and Larry been? How's school? How are your parents?_

_Please, Phoenix, write back soon!_

_Love,_

_Miles_

* * *

**Chapter Six**

**A Slightly Merry Von Karma Christmas: Lesson Six**

**Dezember 2002**

Miles wasn't sure which day he dreaded more—Christmas, and the anniversary of the last truly happy day of his life; the 26th, when the family of Von Karma's late wife would come to visit; the 27th, when lessons would resume; or the 28th. The day of the DL-6 Incident. The day Gregory Edgeworth had died.

No matter which way he looked at it, he couldn't find a way around it. Those would be the four worst days of his life thus far and he had to take them all in a row. O joy, O happiness. He was beginning to understand what had reduced Ebenezer Scrooge to his miserly, Christmas-hating ways. After the horrors on horrors dropped on the poor man Christmas Day year after year after never-ending year? Small wonder the mere thought of the holiday made him feel ill.

Miles was growing increasingly anxious as the calendar crept closer to December the twenty-fifth, not merely dreading the day and the frighteningly happy memories it heralded, with all the pain only remembrance can bring to such fond things, but also fearing the confirmation of a suspicion long supressed within him.

And yes, he _did_ know there was no Santa Claus, thank-you-very-much. That wasn't it.

The problem was, he'd sent Phoenix a letter back in July. Even with the time it would take for a letter to travel from Germany to Los Angeles, Phoenix _had_ to have received it by now. In fact, since this was 2002 and not 1492, Miles should have received a letter from Phoenix in return by now. And that meant that the only reason he _hadn't_ was because Phoenix hadn't sent one.

Though Miles wasn't sure how Von Karma had known what was troubling him, he was grateful when his mentor had suggested perhaps Phoenix hadn't received Miles's letter in the first place. With Manfred's encouragement, Miles had written another letter, which Von Karma had sent at the beginning of the month. By Miles's math, the latest he should receive a reply was New Year's Eve. Another painful anniversary. He and Phoenix and Larry were all supposed to have had an overnight at his house that day one year ago. Miles wondered if the two of them had met up at Larry's or Phoenix's house instead, having called the Edgeworth home and gotten no response. As they'd sat up late, waiting for a gleaming globe to drop some three thousand miles away, had they also been waiting for a knock at the door, a smile, a _sorry I'm late?_ Had they been waiting for him?

Of course they had. They were his friends. And if they'd waited for him, he'd wait for them.

Christmas came. This time, at Franziska's urging, the presents were wrapped. To Miles's surprise, Von Karma's gifts to his daughter and his student were practically…_im_practical. Franziska received a sketchpad. Von Karma smirked faintly as she touched the pages gently, almost disbelievingly.

"There are better ways to draw than scribbling in the margins of your test sheets," he said wryly by way of explanation, pulling a small case of drawing pencils out of his pocket and handing that to her as well.

"Thank you, Papa," Franziska murmured, smiling.

Miles's gift was much smaller. However, as he opened the slender box, he found a beautiful fountain pen, silver inlaid with what looked to be gleaming bits of abalone shell, or perhaps even mother-of-pearl. There was ink as well.

Remembering his father using one of them, Miles ensured the nib was well-inked and guided the pen gently over a bit of scrap paper, testing it out.

As he went to replace the cap, a little scroll of paper slid out. Glancing curiously at his mentor, he unfurled the scroll. The handwriting was, of course, Von Karma's.

_In law, many challenges are best overcome with a pen. You'll never find a better ally._

"Sir, I don't know what to say," he said honestly. "Thank you."

Von Karma nodded, and gestured to a third gift. It turned out to be…a book. Heavy and leather-bound it was, and Miles half-expected it would be a legal text—an impression only reinforced by Manfred's words of warning.

"This gift is for each of you. I sincerely hope both of you have learned to share by now." It was actually impossible to tell if he was joking or not, Miles realised. Manfred von Karma had been a prosecutor for twenty-six years. His poker face was _perfect._

In reality—and Miles could not supress a smile—it was a complete compilation of Sherlock Holmes stories.

There was one gift more under the tree, but oddly, Von Karma didn't seem to notice. Franziska looked at the tag and her eyes widened before she tucked the tiny parcel into her pocket.

Miles could guess who _that_ was from.

But the pleasantness of the gifts couldn't ease the ache of the memories, couldn't erase the image of Phoenix's mother—more Edgeworth's mother than the late Mrs Edgeworth by that point—on that Christmas morning explaining how strange names ran in her family

_(Spring, green grass, yellow-blooming forsythia. The scent of orange blossoms heavy in the air. His father, dumbfounded, as a woman more gypsy than housewife pounced upon his hand and declared herself, in her comma-less way, to be "Serendipity Emma Wright call me Sair it's so nice to meet you!")_

of Miles's own father laughing as he realised the boys had tied most of a keg of curling ribbon around his hatband

_("I wonder what the judge would think if I walked into court wearing this next week. Say, Miles, school doesn't start up again until January—what do you say? Want to come see your ol' dad at work?")_

of Asher and Sair, her black hair dyed with streaks of green and red, giggling under the mistletoe

_("Oh, _ew_, doesn't he know girls have cooties?" Larry whispered incredulously as the two grown-ups kissed.)_

of Phoenix swiping Asher's favourite pen for the ink inside

_("So we coat our fingers and we press 'em to the paper, and then we have a ten-card, right Miles?")_

of Father and Serendipity laughing, laughing, laughing as Asher's face scrunched up in disbelief at the ruins of his pen and the series of inky fingerprints scattered about the house…

Miles wrenched himself out of the memory, sitting up sharply in bed and pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, willing his breathing to slow.

_(Don't think about it don't think about it don't…)_

Father. Larry. Asher. Sair. Phoenix.

_(Don't THINK about it don't think don't think…)_

"Stop…" Miles moaned softly.

_(Phoenix, where _are_ you?)_

The next several days passed like this, and Miles welcomed the return of his studies, embracing the distraction of lessons and homework and tests with open arms. Anything to delay retiring to his bed, to the haze of dreams and memories, to party crackers that turned to gunshots and laughter that turned to screams.

December 28th came and went, and real screams filled the Von Karma manor that night; the screams of a terrified ten-year-old boy. No one came to Miles.

(Little did he know that he wasn't the only one who woke limp and shaking in terror on that night. But no one came to Manfred von Karma, either. There was no one left to do so.)

New Year's Eve. Phoenix's letter had to arrive soon, right?

New Year's Day.

Miles realised, as he stared numbly at the spot by his plate where a letter ought to have been placed this morning, a letter with his name in Phoenix's scrawling handwriting, that the letter was_ never_ going to come. Because once you've lost something, _it's gone for good._

* * *

_**Lesson One: Kindness inspires loyalty.**_

_**Lesson Two: A Von Karma is perfection.**_

_**Lesson Three: Don't cross Von Karma.**_

_**Lesson Four: You can't trust others.**_

_**Lesson Five: Avoid defeat at any cost.**_

_**Lesson Six: What's gone is gone for good.**_

* * *

_**A/N: *sings* But there's nothing in nature that freezes your heart like years of being alone…**_

_**Apparently, the song is just called 'Scrooge'. Go figure, right?**_

_**I almost feel sorry for the heartless bastard after this one. Almost. I don't think I need to explain who I'm talking about, do I?**_

_**Also…Serendipity, amirite?**_

_***Laughs at own joke, realises is alone, subsides***_

_**Anyway. So, I'd intended to post the letter at the beginning a while ago, as in, the day I discovered (belatedly) that the English release of AA5 is confirmed. For THIS YEAR. And has EDGEWORTH in it. AS AN ACTUAL OPPOSING PROSECUTOR. With GLASSES and a LONGCOAT.**_

_**OH MY GOD I GET TO PLAY AS PHOENIX AGAINST EDGEWORTH AGAIN FOR THE FIRST TIME IN LIKE EVER AM I DEAD IS THIS HEAVEN!?**_

_**I kind of wish that I'd been keeping track of AA5 news, because apparently we got told this stuff on May 13**__**th**__** and it would have been the most EPIC birthday gift ever. EVER.**_

_**Enehweh, Anbee out!**_

_**...A phrase I have never used before and hopefully never will again.**_


End file.
